• Sexy Can Still Be Classy //
  • My names Hannah, I'm a 23 year old economics major at NYU and as you can probably tell, I love sex haha ;)
    p.s this blog is my way of venting stress, so sorry if I complain a lot haha :) //
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gives-u-a-boner: http://gives-u-a-boner.tumblr.com/
2206 ♥
slip-them-all-the-way-off-and: ~
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glovelovers: Would love to find her on my couch when I came home from work.
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sirsplayground: Sir
1237 ♥
straponspawgs: Daddy likes when Kitten plays with him during his work time
1382 ♥
bendingsubmission: I told her not to wear them. She ignored the request, to see if I was serious. Her version of a little game. “Why are those still on?” “I thought you were joking.” “No you didn’t.” “No, I didn’t. I suppose I’m in trouble now?” “You think you’re safe because we’re almost in the lobby?” “I like my chances.”  I didn’t wait for the smirk. As I forced her to the wall and pulled them to her calves, she froze. Before the shock wore off, my fingers had her suspended. Hanging off me. Eyes closed, her mouth parted. Then movement. Her hand to my forearm. Fingers tightening as mine increased speed. Elegant enough to avoid overstimulation, rough enough to force her back to arch in preparation. She didn’t realize how well I knew her body. How I easily I could read her. How quickly I could rip this from her if I chose to. Her nails were sinking into my arm before it struck her. Her eyes opened. The look of ecstasy, coupled with bewilderment. “I’m going to . .” “You most certainly are.” They closed again as she slipped into violently silent convulsions, followed by a little “oh fuck” mantra only I could hear. Normally I would stop at this point. Not tonight. She might not listen to me, but her body would. Eyes open again, ecstasy mixed this time with a touch of fear.  “Oh God, I can’t stop …” “No, you can’t.” Pull all the levers. There are no brakes for this. I held her there, past the edge, just shy of tears. Long enough to make my point. Long enough to open another door in her she was afraid to look into. There’s a reason the French call this the little death. Without warning, I stepped back, leaving her against the wall. Her hips still bucking. Her body dancing to echoes from my fingers. The fabric around her calves fluttering as her left leg twitched.  “Now take those off and find a trash can for them.” “I can’t.” “Why not?” “My legs don’t work.” 
945 ♥
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